


Tis the Season

by justanothersong



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Chinese Food, Costume, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Halloween Costumes, Humor, Implied Relationships, Implied Smut, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, References to Sex, Uniform Kink, mild crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 22:19:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8226530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothersong/pseuds/justanothersong
Summary: “Seductive Spider Lady Assassin,” Natasha read dryly from where she sat next to you on the couch, after you had sent a text message all but demanding she join you and Wanda in the lounge. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”





	

Wanda had her nose scrunched up and her lip curled as though she smelled something foul, and knowing that you had already showered that day, you were quite certain that it wasn’t because of you. Given that there was no one else in the room and you had both been quietly poking around the internet by virtue of the Tower’s fantastic wifi, you assumed she had spotted something at the least displeasing on the tablet she was browsing.

It was always a crapshoot to ask what it was when it came to the internet, but curiosity got the better of you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, glancing up from your laptop screen.

Wanda turned her gaze to you, expression changing to something a little more hurt than disgusted, and said, “Sexy Red Sorceress.”

You blinked. Once, then twice. Then said, “Huh?”

Wanda shook her head woefully, casting her eyes back to the tablet in her hands. “I’ll send you a link,” she said, and since you were already on your laptop, the bright blue hyperlink popped up in an instant message sent from WMax@StarkInd.

Against your better judgement, you clicked, and your jaw dropped open.

“What is that, a leotard?” you blurted, eyes widened.

Want had sent you a link to some costume outlet store, probably an internet pop-up shop related to the upcoming Halloween holiday. Tony had already begun hinting at throwing a costume party and you assumed Wanda had been trying to get ahead of the matter and have something prepared in her closet for when the invitations came. You can only imagine how disturbed she must have been at finding a cut-and-paste version of the clothing she tended to wear in the field, replete with spandex, tulle, and a corset.

“How are they allowed to do this?” she demanded. “I know they don’t say it’s me but you can see that’s what it’s supposed to be! And a cape? I don’t wear a cape!”

 

Against your better judgment, you clicked a hyperlink below the tawdry images of the busty model wearing a skimpy amalgamation of Wanda’s gear, labeled ‘Customers Who Viewed This Item Also Viewed…’.

“Seductive Spider Lady Assassin?” Wanda read aloud as she hovered over your shoulder, eyes gone impossibly wider.

You couldn’t help but snort. “Oh my god,” you said, shaking your head. “Natasha has to see this.”

 

Your tenure with the Avengers was a bit longer than Wanda and her brother’s; you seemed to fit in well and enjoyed the work very much. Eight years with the ATF had only served to frustrate you, as you realized that the fabled glass ceiling was firmly in place in that particular governmental body, and you couldn’t stand another minute of being shot down, harassed, and having your male counterparts receiving credit for your work.

Agent Coulson had been impressed by your record with the ATF and was able to read through the lines well enough to realize how you had been getting shafted by your superiors. Tony Stark had just really enjoyed your knack for blowing things up. Next thing you knew, you were suiting up in a specially made tactical uniform and fighting alongside earth’s mightiest heroes -- while creating some very imaginative controlled explosions where necessary.

The press started calling you Ignition. Tony liked to refer to you as Sparky. Everyone else just used your given name, more often than not, with the exception of Captain Rogers, who preferred to call you his girl, or the occasional ‘sweetheart’, ‘sugar’, or ‘baby’ -- all of which you refused to admit that you enjoyed immensely.

All in all, you’d say your life with the Avengers was a definite mark in the plus column, though that particular afternoon was leaving you with something of a bad taste in your mouth.

“Seductive Spider Lady Assassin,” Natasha read dryly from where she sat next to you on the couch, after you had sent a text message all but demanding she join you and Wanda in the lounge. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

The model’s costume seemed more or less painted on, a bustier with a long-sleeved black shrug that hooked over her middle fingers. The leggings were all but sheer and the knee-high latex boots had at least a four-inch spiked heel. Even the red wig on the model’s head was atrocious, too curly and the exact wrong shade of red.

“That’s pretty much what I said,” you agreed, nodding. “You should have seen what they did to Wanda, it’s obscene.”

“A cape!” Wanda muttered, pacing and shaking her head. It seemed that particular aspect of the mock-up costume offended her more than even the wanton cleavage.

“There’s got to be one for you too,” Natasha commented, commandeering the touchpad mouse on your laptop to click on the next ‘Customers Who Viewed This Item Also Viewed…’ link, and there it was.

You let out an undignified, clearly offended squeak.

“Sexy Demolition Girl?” Wanda read aloud.

“Girl?!” you repeated. “What the actual fuck is wrong with these people?”

“What the actual fuck is wrong with what people?” a voice echoed, and you groaned. Of course, it would be Tony to walk in on the three of you glowering at versions of your gear created by some horny profiteer looking to cash in on slutty Halloween costumes.

Smirking a little, Natasha hit a few keys on your laptop and suddenly the perverted fantasy interpretation of your mission gear was on full display on the large flat screen television bolted to the wall in the lounge.

Tony let out a low whistle. “Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s… that’s really something.”

Tony had helped in the design of your actual mission-wear. The base was a tight-fit jumpsuit, much like Natasha’s, but your needs out in the field were different than hers. A series of straps and buckles across the waist and thighs afforded you space to carry a variety of chemical vials you could mix on the fly for specific types of explosions, and you always had a pouch of miniaturized grenades that could only be activated by your own touch. For the most part, you were completely covered.

You certainly didn’t wear a latex hotpants suit with cleavage cut down to the navel, criss-crossed by corseted buckles and accented with fishnet stockings and a purse shaped like a smoking cartoon bomb.

“It’s offensive!” you said, shaking your head. “Can’t we sue?”

Tony snorted. “They’ve been making knockoffs of my suit for years now. Just let people have their fun for a night.”

“Easy for you to say,” you grumbled. “We haven’t found any Iron Hooker costumes yet.”

“He’d be delighted,” Natasha said with a snort. “You should have seen the Ironette Dancers he put together at an Expo a few years back. They wore less than Sexy Demolition Girl.”

You huffed. “Girl!” you grumbled, shaking your head.

“Spider Lady,” Natasha reminded, nudging you in the ribs with her elbow.

“A cape!” Wanda added, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration.

Tony hopped over the back of the couch and settled into the empty seat to your left, pulling your laptop out of your hands.

“Hey!” you said, frowning. “We were--”

“Yes, yes dear, I know,” Tony replied, eyes on the screen on the wall. “Let me just see…”

 

The next half hour was full of decidedly child-like snorts and giggles coming from the four of you as Tony worked his meta-search magic and found horrible knockoffs of everyone’s gear. There was Flying Metal Hero, the Angry Frozen Assassin, Green Monster Man (which came with a LOT of body paint), the Super Patriot, Silvery Streak, the Wingman (you couldn’t wait to tell Sam about the name on that one), and a disturbingly revealing Archer Eagle costume done in purple pleather with knee-high boots. Natasha had nearly fallen off the couch when she saw it.

“I’m buying that!” she declared, her oftentimes mild and unreadable expression traded for a crinkled nose and ruddy cheeks full of laughter. “Oh I am buying that, I am buying that and I will dress him in it myself if I have to!”

“But see, this is exactly what I’m talking about!” you said, gesturing towards the screen. Tony had left the revealing take on your gear up in a window on the screen just to keep himself amused as you browsed, and it stood in clear contrast to the men’s costumes. Cleavage and fishnet were traded for fake padded muscles and plastic weapons; it really wasn’t at all fair.

“Women’s costumes will always be… uh… would it be wrong of me to say ‘slutty’?” Tony said, glancing from face to face for approval. Each of you frowned, and Natasha reached over to flick him behind the ear.

“Only because overgrown frat boys and lecherous old men want to see so many half-naked girls filling every bar and dance club for the season,” she responded glibly.

You were about to add that you’d be fine if more of the men’s costumes looked like the Hawkeye they were selling when a new voice interrupted.

“What… on earth… is that?” Steve said, standing frozen in the doorway with his eyes glued to the screen. You were about to explain that it was a very odd Halloween costume version of Clint’s field gear when you noticed that he wasn’t staring at the perverse purple Archer Eagle at all, but rather at the less savory take on your own suit in the upper corner of the screen.

“That, Cap, is why all the little boys want to be Flying Metal Man for Halloween and not Archer Eagle,” Tony told him with a chuckle. It sent Natasha into another fit of laughter and she stood, holding her stomach as though it pained her.

“Oh, god, I have to get my wallet, I have to buy that,” Natasha announced, wiping away tears of mirth “This is going to be so god damn funny, I may just break a rib…”

Steve’s eyes had gone wide, his cheeks just barely tinged pink, and his lips were just slightly parted. To the untrained eye, the Captain would simply seem shocked by the display, but you knew him far better than that. You knew exactly what Steve looked like when he got a little hot under the collar, and you knew that it was the Sexy Demolition Girl costume that had caused it -- particularly when his eyes flicked to you, unfocused for a long moment, before going back to the costume, his blush deepening just a little at whatever it was he had knocking around that pretty little head of his.

You suppressed a smile and shook your head. It was a little too easy sometimes to allow the renown of the great Captain America eclipse the reality of the man that was Steve Rogers, even for you; it always made you smile to be grounded back into reality, and see the regular everyday guy beneath the superhero, who apparently liked to picture you half-dressed in a minimized knockoff of your tactical gear.

Who knew?

 

It took two weeks for the packages to arrive and you could swear that Natasha had not stopped giggling since the order had been placed. You had never seen her like this before, the stoic Black Widow reduced to a mess of high-pitched girlish laughter each time she thought of the purple latex get-up on its way through the post. You supposed it was an inevitability that something would eventually come along to mercilessly tickle Natasha’s funny bone, but you’d never have guessed this would be it.

Just went to show that even the least likely people could surprise you now and again.

Of course, you’d had to get creative with placing the order. You didn’t need it traced back to the Tower. Instead, you had the packages first shipped to one storefront mailbox vendor and from there to another, before having a courier retrieve them and carry them to the Tower.

Even then, they had been delivered to Bruce’s lab; he was the only one you could trust not to blab, or take a peek. He had been dutifully sworn to secrecy.

Natasha had gleefully retrieved her box and hurried out of the lab with a speed you rarely saw outside of a mission situation, and Bruce smiled in a puzzled sort of way and shook his head.

“You don’t even want to know,” you reassured him, collecting your own parcel.

Tapping with one finger at the corner of the box, which still carried the logo of the costume site, Bruce nodded. “I’m sure I don’t,” he agreed, brown eyes alight with amusement.

 

It was terribly easy to get Steve out of the Tower for a little while. You simply suggested that you both have Chinese for dinner that night, and not the gourmet authentic sort of meal that Tony had brought in with some regularity. No, you had explained, you were craving some really terribly Americanized greasy hole-in-the-wall dive-joint type Chinese food, and you knew a great place that was maybe a little bit of a hike to get to, but it was absolutely worth it and you had such a taste for it. Steve had been on his feet before you had even said ‘please’; the man could put away his weight in egg rolls and was always ready to do just that.

Leftovers just did not exist in the Tower.

You put your time alone to good use, slinking and shimmying into the ridiculous costume. You’d considered purchasing a size smaller than you would normally wear, wanting to make it snug, but had thought better of it at the last moment; off the rack costumes were notoriously sized small as it was. Buying your normal size already made it tight enough to make breathing a difficult prospect; it fit like a second skin.

You left the tacky purse in the box and trashed the fishnets that came with it. They were cheap and already shredding just as you pulled them out of the box; besides, you knew what Steve would like even better. You had only a few pairs of seamed stockings that you kept for special occasions; you knew they drove Steve a little wild to see them, particularly if you wore them with garters. The costume didn’t allow for anything to be worn underneath as it was, your breasts barely covered by the low-cut top and decorative straps and buckles.You rolled on the stockings, pausing to straighten the seams before snapping the straps directly to the hotpants. Dressed up with a pair of t-strap stilettos and a slash of crimson lipstick and you were ready for your little surprise just as you heard the door open.

“Sugar, I’m back,” Steve called, throwing his keys and wallet on the kitchen counter like he always did when he returned from an errand. “Still hungry? I picked up a little more than you wanted but we can pick at the leftovers tomorrow…”

You tried not to snort. “Sure thing, baby. Can you just come where for a second?”

You heard the rustling of a paper bag and when Steve responded, you could tell he was chewing an egg roll.

“You okay in there?” he called teasing, crunching on his snack. “Ran into Nat downstairs, she said you were working on some suit mods?”

“Something like that. Wanna come see?” you replied, just as he pushed open the half-shut bedroom door.

 

The half-eaten egg roll in Steve’s hand hit the plush carpet with a muted thump, slipped from his fingertips without half a thought as his eyes widened to drink you in. You heard him audibly gulp and you smiled, placing your hands on your hips.

“So what do you think?” you asked, smiling coyly.

Steve walked towards you slowly, eyes drifting down your body and back up again. He let out a low whistle and shook his head, breathing out your name before pausing with his fingertips just grazing your thighs.

“Well look at you, all dolled up. Just for me, baby?” Steve asked, biting his lip and cocking his head to the side. You loved when he did that, when the careful facade he presented to the outside world broke down and the hot-blooded, irresistible man beneath the shield came out to play.

“I don’t see anybody else around, do you, soldier?” you teased, arching an eyebrow.

Steve slid a hand up the back of your thigh, slipping a finger beneath one garter and stretching it out before letting it snap back against your skin. You gasped, back straightening and a blush rising to your cheeks at the sensation, a hitch in your breath at the implication.

Steve grinned. “Oh, we’re going to have to explore that one of these days,” he told you, sliding his hand beneath the garter to sooth your skin.

“Next time,” you replied, slipping each of your forefingers through a belt loop on his jeans and tugging so that he stepped forward and closed the distance between you. “Tonight let’s play with this cute little outfit I’ve got on. What do you think, Captain? Am I ready for the field?”

“Hmm,” Steve said, shaking his head as he ran his hands up the back of your thighs and over your ass, to settle at the small of your back. “Looks a little flimsy there, doll. Better let me check it for any weaknesses.”

You couldn’t help the gleeful laugh that erupted from your throat when you found yourself unceremoniously lifted off the ground and carried to your bed.

 

The cheap costumed ended up in several torn pieces on the carpeted floor. You hadn’t really expected it to last, after all, so you weren’t terrible upset to see it ripped to shreds. All of the fun had been taken in letting Steve do just that, tear at every canvas belt and plastic buckle with his bare hands. 

Steve was grinning when he rolled onto his back beside you, still panting from your shared exertions, skin flushed and damp with sweat. You smiled back, inwardly wondering if he needed to take such heaving breaths at all or if it was just muscle memory telling him that he should. He laid back against his pillow and pushed the blond locks of sweaty hair from his forehead.

“That was fun,” he said, still smiling.

You chuckled. “Well thanks, I aim to please,” you responded dryly.

Steve reached out and tilted your chin towards him, moving in closer to brush his lips across yours.

“You always do,” he agreed, the words murmured against your lips. You traded lazy kisses for a while, hands sliding over smooth warm skin, and Steve pulled you closer, enjoying the feel of your body against his own. It was languid and comfortable, and you were considering letting yourself drift off to sleep when you noticed that Steve’s gaze had fallen past you, settling somewhere near the door.

“Steven Grant Rogers, you are not eating that egg roll,” you admonished with a laugh.

“I’m sure it’s still good,” he countered.

You snorted, burying your face against his chest. “Five second rule, buster,” you told him, voice muffled, and gave a quick nip to his chest to punctuate your words.

Steve laughed and pinched your thigh in response, kissing you on the forehead when you looked up to glare at him.

“Fine, fine,” he agreed, and laid you gently back down onto the mattress. “I’ll be right back.”

You watched him slip out of the bed and pad towards the door, not bothering with so much as a pair of boxers as he went, scooping up his abandoned snack to toss in the kitchen trash. Alone and a little chilled at the loss of his body heat, you pulled your short silk robe off of the bedpost and wrapped yourself in it, tying the soft pink belt at your waist before sitting down again. You took a second to smile and reflect on the strange route your life had taken -- after all, there weren’t many people who could claim they watched a bare-ass naked Captain America wander off in search of egg rolls -- and laughed when Steve returned with the entire bag of takeout in his hands.

Steve resumed his place in the bed, landing with enough force to bounce you a little where you sat, and he leaned against the headboard, handing you a pair of chopsticks and a carton of cashew chicken out of the bag. He pulled the sheet up to cover his modesty and tossed away the tattered remnant of your costume’s bodice before he foraged in the greasy bag a moment before pulling out a fresh egg roll.

He spotted you smiling fondly at him and paused with the egg roll halfway to his mouth.

“What?” he asked, arching an eyebrow at you.

You shook your head, still smiling. “Nothing really,” you replied, opening your carton. “Just wondering what the world would think if they knew the great Captain America had a uniform kink.”

Steve snorted. “Didn’t you hear you complaining, babydoll,” he responded. “Besides, you gotta cut me some slack. Spent most of my life as a kid around pretty nurses in hospital uniforms. Tends to have an effect on a guy.”

You poked him in the shoulder with your chopsticks. “Nurses, Steve?” you teased, smiling a little broader when he had the decency to blush. You let the moment draw out, hoping to fluster him just a little, before you added, “Guess it’s a good thing I bought one of those too, huh?”

Steve’s eyes grew a little wider and a little darker at your words. You just grinned in reply.

~*~

Four days later, while you and Steve were having a quiet breakfast in the communal kitchen, Clint walked in nonchalantly wearing only a pair of pink house slippers clearly borrowed from Natasha and purple pleather booty-shorts. He went straight to the coffee machine, and took a swig from the pot itself.

Noticing the two of you staring from the table, he raised the coffee pot in semblance of a toast.

“Morning,” he said, then wandered back to his own room, taking the coffee with him.


End file.
